


Sandwiches and Cacti

by kinkymjolnir



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Hanzo Shimada, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food, Latino Jesse McCree, M/M, Power Bottom Hanzo Shimada, References to Depression, Safeword Use, Safewords, Smut, Sweet Jesse McCree, Tattoo Artist Hanzo Shimada, Top Jesse McCree, Trauma, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkymjolnir/pseuds/kinkymjolnir
Summary: It starts with a sandwich sitting in front of Hanzo’s door, carefully tucked in a paper towel and sitting on an orange plate with small cacti drawn on it. Hanzo frowns: no one is in the hallway. Whoever left that sandwich there is hiding somewhere, and he thinks it might have been one of the neighbors.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Kudos: 88





	Sandwiches and Cacti

**Author's Note:**

> This has no good reason to exist, it was sitting in my drafts and i don't actually remember why i started this so,,, enjoy uwu

It starts with a sandwich sitting in front of Hanzo’s door, carefully tucked in a paper towel and sitting on an orange plate with small cacti drawn on it. Hanzo frowns: no one is in the hallway. Whoever left that sandwich there is hiding somewhere, and he thinks it might have been one of the neighbors.

There are only a handful of apartments on his floor: in 213 there are Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison, married for ten years and with small paper pride flags glued all over the door; Winston, the tall scientist who always smiles so bright at Hanzo when he sees him, waves and loudly gives his good-whatever-part-of -the-day it was, although Hanzo doesn’t remember interacting with him on more than two occasions since he moved here from Japan; there’s Ana, Reinhardt and Siebren, a three-people couple that always sends him nice smiles when they meet on the stairs or at the mailbox, but they never talk much, and Hanzo is grateful for it; and lastly, the annoying cowboy who lives right next to Hanzo, an attractive young man who always sings his heart out in the shower, making Hanzo reconsider his promise to never kill anyone ever again.

The sandwiches keep appearing, one after the other. Hanzo always makes sure to leave the empty plate outside his door after he’s done eating. He could have easily found out who was feeding him in such a mysterious way, but he didn't want to. At first he was confused, annoyed and even a little suspicious. What if the food was poisonous? But his cat, Assdestroyer (Genji named it that, and now it only answered to that name), had eaten a small piece of it and had not died, so Hanzo threw the thought away. He had gotten used to the warm feeling blooming in his chest every time he came home and found the plate there, and trying to find out who was doing it would have just taken that away and made it awkward. He climbed the stairs until he was on his floor and, surely enough, the sandwich was there. A small smile appeared on Hanzo’s lips. 

He didn’t have an eating disorder, or anything of the sort: depression was his curse, making it hard to cook or eat anything at all. Maybe the person making the sandwiches had noticed how Hanzo would slim down and stop exercising and cooking for a few weeks at a time. His neighbors often complimented him on the smell that flew out of his windows when he made traditional food for dinner, and once Reinhardt had complimented him on his stamina during workout, letting Hanzo know they could hear him when he did that. So, Hanzo thought, the mysterious chef probably noticed the gloomy silence in Hanzo’s apartment, the absence of the food’s smell; they must have seen how unkempt he looked when, during those times, he left the house to go grocery shopping. Did the anonymous chef feel bad for him? For some reason the thought made Hanzo angry: he didn’t need pity, and he sure as hell didn’t need a mother hen cooking for him, thank you very much. But the sandwiches were good, better than any other he had ever tried, so he tried not to think too hard about the reason behind the person’s actions and he took the new sandwich inside.

He closed the door with a sight: he had had a long session at the tattoo shop where he worked, a young girl asking for a complicated geometric back piece that was taking far too long to complete. Olivia, the girl, was chatty enough to make even Hanzo talk. She would ask about his life, his family, his terrible love life. He never had any good stories to tell: his life was a classified file, his family was all dead, his love life was disappointing to put it nicely. Hanzo had given up on love long ago, covered in the blood of his enemies, with a black eye from his father’s fists. “You should have done better,” he said, and Hanzo swallowed the tears and “yes sir”. Hanzo gave up on love when he cut Genji into the pieces to please his father, when he stood in that temple, back in Hanamura, and stared at his shaking hands and felt his heart go numb. Olivia asked if he was seeing anyone, and Hanzo shook his head with no emotion on his face. He focused on the tattoo, the straight lines and the shadow slowly coming together to create an intricate design of ink.   
“I could introduce you to a friend,” she said casually, looking at him to see his reaction. Hanzo hummed non-committedly. “He’s a real nice guy,” she tried again.   
“I don’t do dates” Hanzo dead-panned.  
“I bet you don’t dance either”  
“False, I’m an amazing dancer”  
Olivia grinned and Hanzo gave her a small smile as he cleaned the needle before getting back to work.  
“Do it for me, chico” she pleaded, making her voice soft and looking back at him. Hanzo hummed again.  
“If he’s such a nice guy why is he still single?” he asked almost bored, and then “stay still or I’ll make a mistake and ruin the tattoo”  
Olivia sighed dramatically. “Just one date. Do it for me, your favorite client ever! Pretty please?”   
“The physical appearance of “please” doesn’t matter to me,” - Olivia snorted - “and you’re not my favorite client”  
Hanzo barely managed not to ruin the tattoo when Olivia suddenly turned around, wailing dramatically. “You wound me!” she cried out, “after all we’ve been through, how could you say that?”  
Hanzo hadn't laughed in a long time, but now he threw his head back and wheezed, making Olivia smile victoriously.   
“I’ll take that as a yes then”  
“Still a no” Hanzo said, smiling and making her turn around again to go back to the tattoo.   
“If i didn’t know better, I’d say you’re already in love with someone else”  
Hanzo hummed for the third time and thought about the sandwich that would be waiting at his door once he got home that evening. 

Hanzo’s heart crumbled to pieces, even though he would never admit it. He knew getting habits was dangerous, he knew being used to something meant getting heartbroken once that thing was lost; yet he had chosen to believe in the mysterious cook and their amazing sandwiches. He let himself get a habit and now he was paying for that. In front of his door, that evening, was nothing. With his heart clenching he got inside his apartment and felt disappointment claw its way up his throat. The rejection - was that rejection? - made his face heat up with shame. His father would have beaten him halfway to death for crying about this, so he didn’t. Instead he changed into his pajamas and tucked himself into bed. Night arrived and found him staring at a ceiling with a rumbling stomach as his companion. A soft sigh left his lips and he turned to his side. Silence was overwhelming that night: not even the cowboy next door was singing in the shower like he usually would. The only sound was the soft snoring coming from Assdestroyer and, sporadically, the sound of the tv from Gabriel and Jack’s apartment. 

He let himself wonder what being like Jack and Gabriel would be. Waking up and seeing a familiar smile, coming back from work and eating together, laughing about your day over a glass of good wine, massaging each other’s feet on the couch while watching some trash soap opera. Falling asleep knowing someone is right next to you. 

Sleep never came, but morning did: the sun shone through the window, and if Hanzo hadn’t been so numb he would have found it beautiful. Getting up wasn’t an option; his body was heavy, limbs too long and knotty, his head glued to his pillow. He could taste his horrible breath and found it disgusting, but did not move to fix that. Everything was still, except his heart, beating slowly in his chest. 

He stared out his window until the sun was high in the sky and the streets were full of chattering and noises. He wouldn't have gotten up hadn’t it been for the knock that came to his door around lunch. Slowly he got to his feet. His whole body hurt, he was tired, he smelled bad, but he got up nonetheless. A walk of shame to the door, then he opened it and his heart dropped: a sandwich was staring up at him, a little messy, but still. Hanzo picked up the orange plate - the one with the cacti, he always loved that plate - and read the post-it note glued to it.  
“Sorry for last night, something came up before I made it to the kitchen. Enjoy”  
Whoever wrote that was careful to hide any hint about his identity from the note, but the calligraphy looked crooked like that of a child, which confused Hanzo even more.  
His stomach grunted expectantly and he didn’t waste any more time: he bit into the sandwich and felt relief wash over him like a wave of cool water. 

“Good morning Hanzo!”  
Winston was cheerful as always, even at seven in the morning, when he got into the hallway to gather his mail. Hanzo nodded in his direction and looked in his mailbox: as empty as it always was.   
“You look tired. Is it hard sleeping now that McCree is back from the hospital?”  
Hanzo looked up with a frown.  
“Oh, didn't you notice the ambulance the other day? Were you at work?”  
“Uh, yeah, I… must have been. What happened?”  
Hanzo closed the mailbox as Winston collected his mails from his own.   
“Jesse broke an arm the other day. I met him earlier, he joked about having to be careful to the only good arm he has left” Winston said and scoffed a laugh. He fixed his glasses on his nose and awkwardly moved a hand through his dark hair. “I have to go now. Gotta bounce, as the youngsters say” and an awkward laugh, followed by finger guns and a polite ‘see you later’. As Winston climbed the stairs, Hanzo looked down into his empty mail box. Mystery solved, he thought mournfully. 

Jesse Mccree looked like trouble, and Hanzo pushed his hands down his pockets when the cowboy opened the door. One arm was hanging from his neck, carefully bandaged.   
“Hanzo!” he said in surprise just before blinding the man standing at his door with a huge smile. “Hey man, what can i help you with?”  
“Your plate,” Hanzo said drily. He extended his arm and got the plate out of his work bag: the orange one, with small cacti drawn on it. It was the plate Jesse had used the first time he left a sandwich in front of Hanzo’s door. Jesse’s smile dimmed.  
“Ah, so you found out?” he asked with a bittersweet voice. He laughed a little. “I thought I was being real sneaky, darlin’, but apparently I was wrong. What gave me away?”   
“The cacti,” Hanzo said. It was the truth, he had always suspected Jesse, but just couldn’t bring himself to ask. Jesse laughed and Hanzo’s heart skipped a beat.   
“Were the sandwiches good?”  
“I’m going to kiss you right now,” Hanzo put the plate on the entrance table, cupped Jesse’s confused but happy face and kissed him. He had soft lips and a messy beard, but it was hard to focus on the sensations when Jesse was suddenly taking control of the kiss and making it deeper than Hanzo had anticipated. Jesse’s free hand flew into his hair, pulling it and taking off his hair tie. Hanzo’s hair showered down around their faces, lightly scraping at their cheeks. He gasped for air, interrupting the kiss as his face heated up. Jesse, seemingly pleased with himself, thrilled happily.

“You look good kissed half-way to stupid, sweetheart”

Hanzo made a strangled noise before Jesse took over again, kissing and holding and touching. All Hanzo could hear, breathe, taste was Jesse, and he wanted to feel like this forever. The kiss turned soft, but Jesse’s hand was now roaming over Hanzo’s chest. 

Sometime during the make out session Jesse had got Hanzo’s work bag on the floor, and now he was trying to find his skin, to touch. He fumbled over the buttons of the shirt, then with an annoyed grump he tore it open. Buttons flew around the room and fell dead on the floor. Hanzo gulped when he found himself with his chest exposed and his face hot. He must have looked like a mess, he thought: messy hair, crumpled shirt, red neck; Jesse grinned when he finally managed to get his hand over Hanzo’s bare tattoos. He kissed him again and slightly pinched a hardening nipple with his thumb, making Hanzo squeal out in pleasure. 

“Jesse…”

“Give me a color, baby”

Hanzo wasn’t exactly familiar with BDSM, but he knew what that question meant, so he muttered out a soft ‘green’ and felt his veins on fire when Jesse started peppering kisses over his throat, down and down and only stopping around his other nipple. 

Hanzo felt his cock harden against Jesse’s tights and shyly moved his hips to hump the leg, trying to get some relief. Jesse laughed, a low sound that vibrated into Hanzo’s chest, where his mouth was. 

“Sweetheart, if y’want something you gotta tell me, mh?” he said, voice smooth as silk. Hanzo tried to breathe and meowled a pathetic noise.

“Jesse… touch me,” he whispered.

“Mh? Louder, I didn’t hear you”

Hanzo closed his eyes in shame. Having to beg to get his release, being exposed like this, still standing, submitting to someone else. He opened his eyes, ready to put a stop to the situation, but when he looked down his breath got knocked out of his lungs. 

In Jesse’s eyes there was nothing but pure awe. He was looking at Hanzo, pliant in his arms and desperate to be fucked, and all Hanzo could see in his eyes was pure devotion. Hanzo thought about submission, how it had always felt: like shame, a failure, a weakness. But now, looking into Jesse’s adoring eyes, submission looked like a safe space, a gift he could have given Jesse on his own volition, something to be cherished and grateful for. His submission wasn’t weakness, it was strength, it was grace and elegance and pride. He swallowed his doubts and bit his lips.

“Please, touch me”

Jesse smiled. His eyes filled with gratitude and he straightened his back to kiss Hanzo. His tongue was completely in control of the kiss, and the only thing Hanzo could do was open his mouth languidly.

Going soft into Jesse’s arms felt like freedom, so Hanzo relaxed his muscles and let himself be lost in pleasure. He lazily humped Jesse’s legs, making a wet spot appear on his pants. Jesse murmured sweet nothings into his mouth, his ear, his skin. He freed Hanzo from all the remaining clothes and combed through his hair with his robot hand.

“I got a broken arm darlin’, so you gotta help me out here, whatcha think?” he asked with a smile. Hanzo nodded quickly, feeling weirdly at ease at taking orders. It felt easy, and safe. Just what he had been missing. 

“Alright, sweet thing, how about you sit pretty for me?” Jesse asked. He untangled his hand from Hanzo’s hair and got a pillow from the nearby couch. He put in on the floor and Hanzo dropped to his knees, sitting in a perfect seiza, just like he did in Japan. Jesse’s eyes lit up. “Look at you, so pretty. Sitting up straight just the way I like it. Good boy”

Jesse cupped Hanzo’s chin with his good hand. “Now be an ever better boy,” he said, seriously, “and suck my cock, mh? I’ve been tested, but I have condoms if you want ‘em” but Hanzo was already working on getting his dick free with lust in his eyes. He stroked it a few times, wetting his lips in anticipation, then he licked a stripe up his shaft, looking up at Jesse for approval, trying to look good - he wanted to be good, to be hot, wanted Jesse to praise him again. Jesse laughed softly, the metallic hand petting through Hanzo’s hair. Hanzo opened widely and took as much as he could of Jesse into his mouth. He wasn’t good at it, by any means: he was inexperienced and insecure, but there was no time for those thoughts as Jesse muttered a string of praises, one after the other. The hand in Hnazo’s hair guided his movements, a kind but regular pace that was slowly helping Hanzo to open up his throat.

“You look good with my cock in your mouth” Jesse said with a smile. Hanzo’s eyes lit up with pride, and that was all it took for him to give a final push and touch Jesse’s hairy stomach with his nose. His throat was stretched around Jesse’s cock, hot and clenching and wet, and Jesse muttered some curses, some compliments. He guided Hanzo in a more intense way now, trying to keep him exactly where he wanted him.

“Pretty face, can i come here?” he asked, looking down at Hanzo with fogged eyes. Hanzo felt his stomach turn in anticipation, and a strangled happy noise made his throat vibrate around Jesse’s cock. Jesse smiled. “Good boy”

Jesse pulled on Hanzo’s hair to keep him in place and came down his throat. Slowly he moved Hanzo’s back to let him breathe, but Hanzo took his time, swallowing and licking to get everything, every last drop. Jesse laughed, impressed.

“Someone was hungry”  
“I didn’t get my sandwich yesterday,” Hanzo replied, licking his lips and looking up. His eyes were red and wet, his voice scratchy. His throat was starting to hurt. Jesse smiled.  
“Come here, sweety. Let me take care of you”  
Hanzo didn’t hesitate to follow orders and he straddled Jesse’s lap. His bare cock was hard and leaking already: a single blowjob had him on the verge of coming untouched, it had been so long since he last did this kind of thing. Jesse let out a pleased thrill and he started stroking Hanzo’s cock. Hanzo whimpered and hid his face in Jesse’s shoulder, but Jesse pulled his hair back.

“Look at me while i touch you, sweetheart”  
Hanzo gulped and held Jesse’s gaze. It felt good, the humiliation now turned into pride. Jesse grinned, called him a good boy, stroked harder. Hanzo could feel himself getting close embarrassingly fast, but Jesse laid a kiss on his forehead and smiled. “No edging this time. Come for me, darlin’” and so Hanzo did, making a mess between the two of them. He panted hard, still looking Jesse in the eyes.

“Good boy, Hanzo” he crooned, touching his face so softly. Hanzo went limp in Jesse’s arms, feeling an amazing sense of exhaustion take over him. He closed his eyes and let out a relaxed sight. “You did really good. Thank you for that”

Hanzo smiled tiredly, even if Jesse couldn’t see him. “Let’s get you to bed,” Jesse said. Hanzo felt himself being lifted with a grunt. He liked the feeling of being taken care of. He smiled against Jesse’s shoulder, and when Jesse put him down on the bed he drifted off in a matter of minutes.

When he woke up, a sandwich was sitting on the bedside table, Jesse was singing loudly in the shower and the sun shone through the window. Hanzo smiled and went back to sleep.


End file.
